


that's just the way you make me feel

by thegirlwiththeironheart



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Easily Flustered Jack Robinson, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththeironheart/pseuds/thegirlwiththeironheart
Summary: It all started with the goddamn pool.





	that's just the way you make me feel

**Author's Note:**

> this absolutely came from a dream i had and there will probably be 2 or 3 chapters total i PROMISE i will actually update this eventually, thanks for reading and you can follow my Miss Fisher shitposting blog on tumblr @almostseeyouplayingcroquet
> 
> edit: chapter titles are all from the song "Make Me Feel" by Janelle Monae!

It all started with the goddamn pool.

“You _what?_ ”

Miss Fisher looked at him like she had said she was going to the fruit market, or some other mundane, ordinary thing. “I’ve decided to have a pool put in the backyard,” she repeated. “Aunt P has one and I decided it’s just what we need to survive this heat wave.”

It was true, this was one of the hottest summers on record in Australia; Jack was all but dripping sweat in his suit. “Well, you did mention you occasionally invest in the odd folly.”

She gave him a look that went right under his skin and made him feel as if she could see right through him, a look that somehow made her eyes all the more hypnotizing. “Jack, ensuring we don’t all die of heat exhaustion is hardly a folly,” she teased.

He allowed himself a smile—one small, controlled, wry smile—in her direction. “Solving crime and saving us all from perishing. Whatever will you do next, Miss Fisher?”

“You’re welcome to use it any time, Jack. Once it’s filled in, of course.” She grinned and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on his desk.

Damn it, he didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to fall even further under her spell. Her perfume had already clouded his office, and his eyes were drawn to the low cut of her soft pink dress; it wrapped around her cream colored skin like it was meant to be there. Jack had always entertained the notion that her clothes weren’t sewn or tailored, but instead were simply an extension of her own natural beauty, like a butterfly’s wings.

“I appreciate the offer, Miss Fisher, but unfortunately, criminals don’t seem to care about the weather.” He motioned to the pile of paperwork he was meant to be reviewing.

“Well you must take a break at some point,” she insisted. “Surely being detective inspector comes with some perks?” She batted her eyelashes, and Jack’s heart thudded in his chest.

Without quite realizing, he looked at the long necklace that got lost in the folds of her dress when she leaned forward. “If I ever do get a break, Miss Fisher, I will be sure to let you know.”

“That’s the spirit, Jack!” She stood, picking up her purse. “Now, I’m off to see a man about a stolen brooch.”

“Slow day for the lady detective, then?”

“Well, we can’t _all_ be detective inspector, Jack.”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely. “No, I suppose not.”

She wiggled her fingers at him in a flirtatious wave and left his office in a flurry of rose-colored fabric, leaving behind a cloud of French perfume.

Jack leaned back against his chair and sighed, rubbing his eyes.

She would be the death of him. Just being in her presence made him feel like he was in some sort of haze, everything fading to nothing when he looked at her. He had thought, once upon a time, that that kiss in French cafe would snap him out of the budding infatuation, but it had only made it worse. He had managed to keep a lid on it until his divorce, until that costume party at her aunt’s— _one gaudy night_ , just one, that was all she asked of him, and it was a Herculean effort to say no. Thank God he had, given the way the rest of the night eventually had gone. Still, the memory of her undoing his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, (her hands slowly reaching for his belt,) as if she had undressed him a thousand times before, then pausing as if she realized, suddenly, what she was doing—he kept that memory in the back of his mind.

He would never, ever admit it, just as would walk on hot coals then admit just when—and how often—he thought of that moment. He shifted in his seat and leaned forward, trying to think of anything else. Football. Paperwork. Laundry— _Phryne in his shirt, Phryne tossing his clothes aside—_

Jack clenched his teeth. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable day at the office.


End file.
